Wilde Would Whisper Flowery Sweet Nothings In Your Ear During Foreplay But Then Have His Very Dirty Way

Wilde would whisper flowery sweet nothings in your ear during foreplay but then have his very dirty way with you

Fitzgerald would spend like an hour bragging about how good he was and then come much too soon

Shakespeare would make up positions on the spot but they’d be awesome

Doyle would please you once and then complain when you kept asking him to do the same thing over and over again

Hemingway would explain in no uncertain terms exactly what he was going to do, and do exactly one very simple act, but goddamn if it wasn’t the best time you’ve had in years anyways

Joyce would take FOREVER but eventually satisfy you

Rand would make you do all the work yourself

Poe would cry

Carl Sagan’s apple pie recipe, based on his famous words.

"Yeah, well th'other cand'date for th'job is a goodfornothin' cheater who can't count t' ten wit' mittens on!" Tom slurred drunkenly.

The interior of a Eukaryotic Cell, from the outer membrane through the cytosol to the nucleus.  All molecular structures are colored by their function; the cytoskeleton is blue, membranes are green, ribosomes are purple, RNA and spliceosomes are pink, DNA and nucleosomes are yellow.  This cell is producing antibodies, all steps of the process are visualized in order from the bottom to the top of the image. 

      First DNA is transcribed to RNA, and the RNA is spliced before leaving the nucleus through a nuclear pore.  Translation begins when the RNA becomes bound to a ribosome, which converts the genetic sequence to a linear protein.  The proteins are folded and sorted inside the Golgi Complex, and then packaged into vesicles by the geodesic Clathrin Assembly.  These vesicles are pulled along microtubules by kinesin motors.  The vesicles then fuse with the outer membrane, and the antibodies are released into the bloodstream.

Illustration by David Goodsell

Collecting creative insults is so fun omg. For example:

I wouldn’t piss in your ear if your brain was on fire

You’re about as innocent as a tumour

Why don’t I help you slip into something more comfortable? Like a coma

You’re so dense that light bends around you

How’d you like a new grin for a necktie?

I hope your fingers turn into fish-hooks, and you suddenly develop an itch in your balls

You’re as sharp as a sackful of hammers

If I found you being torn apart by rabid dogs, I’d sell popcorn

You’re a prime candidate for natural deselection

You’re telling enough white lies to ice a wedding cake

May your armpits be infested with the fleas of a thousand camels

If you ever become a mother can I have one of the puppies?

You’re hung like a light switch

I do desire that we may be better strangers

For a man with no cows you’ve got an awful lot of bullshit

You’re about as slick as snail snot

May all your floss become barbed wire

You make me want to feed kittens turpentine

You’re slipperier than a pickled perverts promise

I’ll bet your father spent the first year of your life throwing rocks at the stork

You’re one of those people who’d be enormously improved by death

“Son,” the father says, examining the broken petri dishes littered about the floor, “I’m not a mad scientist, I’m just a disappointed scientist.”